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J)3ar M%d(im, thou art my salvafloji, now.''^ — P.'ge 42. 



A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
AND OTHER POEMS. 



HOWARD L. TKRRY, 



3J ILLUSTRATED. 



ST. I,OUIS 
St. C1.AIR, PUBI^ISHER 

1898 



T6 3^^Ji 



20651 



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^d^n 



Copyrighted 1898 by 

HOWARD L. TEBKY, 

All rights reserved. 



lEG 7 - US 




i'^^'A 



:'#;^ 



TO MY SISTERS 

GRACE AND BESSIE 

This little book is affectionately 

dedicated. 



"'And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill ; 
A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts.'' 



CONTENTS, 

Page 

A Tale of Normandie 13 

The Two Little ''J's" 51 

The Loving Cup..... 53 

The Ballad of Jennie Brown oa 

To an Iron Bedstead.... ....58 

Mien Eire, 59 

Cupid — , 60 

The Tomb of Washington 6 1 

Lines 62 

Ode to Hilarity ....,., 63> 

The Delirium 64 

A Song of Twenty-One,. 66 

The Pessimist to His God , 67 

To Homer 70 

The Song of Wanton Wa- Wa 71 

O, Canst Thou Not? , 74 

The Last Oak of Sherwood Porest 75 

An Invocation..., , 80 

Song 80 

Pespondency .... , ...... , . . . , 8 ). 



Uines on Leaving America .8^ 

Only a Kiss 88 

A Letter (To G- J. S.).... .89 

The Girls at Home ,..,,,.89 

Antithesis , ... 93 

To a Rose ..,.,...., 94 

Fragment. ., . 95 

The Vision of the Wanderer . , . . ...... 96 

Echo Song........ .,., , ,..,,,.99 

The Dying Christian ,...,,,., 10^ 

Colonial War Song 1^2 

To A. G. G., M. D .,....,.,.,.. 10_3 

Hymn to the Brave 104 

An Evening Reverie ,,..,,,,.,,. ... 105 

To My Earlier Rhymes..,,, ,,.,107 

A June Bride ,,.,.,.,,,,,.,,, , 1 08 

Fragment ,.,..,..,,..,,,,,,,.,., 108 

O, Heart of Man ! ,. .. .,., . ,,,, ,.109 

Mateless ...,,,,,..., ,.,,.,..,,,,., 110 

A Sleigh Ride in the South,,, 112 

A Panegyric ..,,,, — H^ 

Yuledon ,., ,,.,..., H^ 

Gone! Gone! Gone!,,,,.,, .,....ll-s 

The Burned Letters ,,,.,,, H-^ 

Song, "When First I Kissed That 

Lovely Face," ,,,.,..,,,,..,....,,, ,120 
The Weird Hermit,,,....,,,,,,,,,, .,.,.1^^ 

The Cyclone , ..,., . 123 

A Rural Home... ,..,,124 

An Echo fro n Our Algebra Class,..,., i 2^ 

Ned ., 12T 

Room "41." .,..,.128 

To Womankind 12U 



A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
AND OTHER POEMS. 



NOTE. 

''A Tale of Normcindie," whose original title, " Begin. 
aid and Genevieve,' was written in 1893. During the five 
years intervening quite a number of changes have been made 
throughout the poim, but the plot, scenes and time of the 
tale remain the same. Previous to its publication Dr. John 
Snyder gave the manuscript a careful revise, and criticism, 
and advised re-writing the whole poem, and opening it with 
rhyme. This was done, dividing the tale into ^ve cantos, 
instead of four, as originally written. 

For the careful editing, and many helpful suggestions 
toward improving the manuscript, I am greatly indebted to 
not only Dr. Snyder, but to Prof. Schuyler, of the St. 
Louis High School, and to Mr. A. H. St. Clair, the 
publisher. 

H. T. 



H vTale of iRormanMe 



"IVhat dire offense from amorous causes sprtHgt, 
IV hat mighty contests rise from trivial things?** 

^.AND of the Franks, where Norman blood arose ! 
On thy fair shores the tale I strive to tell 
Is echoed forth, and all my current flows 
§ To that one spot where Ocean's ceaseless swell 
Washes thy cliffs and laves thy rocky shore, 
Like some wild tigress lapping at her young, 
Tame in content, while in her dwells that roar 
Which thou possess, and vent when thou art strung 
Into the pitch of fury, which has been 
To many a struggling soul its last, heart-rending scene. 




14 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Far o'er the waters the last gleam of day- 
Dies in its bosom, while behind a cloud, 
Faint in her efforts comes the moon's soft ray, 
Stronger and weaker, 'till at last a shroud 
Of mist upon mist — arises, and the scene 
Grows ever darker. But afar there glows, 
The firmament and ocean set between, 
A vessel's light, and with its motion throws 
A far reflected glimmer on the waters' sombre miea. 

Now higher rose the moon upon its way, 

The elements on which it cast its light 

Shone out in bold relief against the sky ; 

ivising abruptly from the waters' edge 

A promontory, great and grand to see, 

With sides of cragged rocks and sharpened peaks 

That many a storm has wrought its furies on; 

And at its base a dashing rivulet 

Gives forth its burden to the hungry sea. 

There, to the left, a bight of half a mile, 

And where it terminates, a fisher's hut. 

Scarce thirty paces from its only door 

A fishing smack was rocking on the deep, 

And nets and lines lay drying on the sand. 

Within the hut there dwelt a fisherman, 

A widower for half a score of years, 

And with him lived his daughter. 

So dear she was that he had oft refused 

Her many suitors from the neighboring towa. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 15 

And she was beautiful, and bore the name 
Of her lost mother — Genevieve it was. — 
Just in the best of all the merry teens. 
She knew it, and she knew her beauty, too, 
And she was loved, and it was often said 
There was a youth, who, at an earlier day 
Her heart and soul were set on, and she loved. 

Now out upon fche moonlit beach there came 
A figure walking carelessly along. 
On his young face a shadowy sorrow lay, 
Mute symbol of a troubled heart within ; 
And turning as he there was strolling on. 
He gave a far-off look along the shore. 
Then made his way unto a nook close by ; 
There divers reeds and grasses grcAV around, 
And cutting one of even shape, he made 
A pipe, to which he tuned this little tale: 

" Through twenty varied summers have I lived, 

And learned the ways of Nature as they came, — 

The good, the bad, and all her various moods. 

And made a record of the strange events 

That happened in my journey out of youth; 

And then to think that every living soul 

Weaves of the years a thrilling narrative, 

And makes a novel writ without a pen ! 

My thoughts now dwell on one unhappy love, 

That while it lived brought heaven to earth for me I 



16 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

And life was jeyous, as a pleasant dream. 
The little Maid who dwelleth in the hut 
Built high upon the sands beyond the peak 
Could tell the tale which I am telling now, 
How in our younger days the love we bore 
Unto each other and which stronger grew, 
Until each for the other seemed to live. 
The happy seasons came and went, but found 
Us still Joined to each other by that love 
But last, a day that seemed to have no sun, 
So dark the great world did appear to me : 
For we had quarreled, and in a girlish rage 
She cast me off. 

'' But yet, reluctant 
To lose what had been ever dear to me, 
And reasoning that she was yet a child. 
And acting without Wisdom's guiding hand, 
I pleaded with her, but I pled in vain : 
And then I turned, but ere I dropped her hand, 
I said, fast blinking to withhold a tear, 
' Farewell, my little one, yes, fare thee well, 
And may thy life be happy ; but this act. 
It will come back and hurt thee,' and I went." 
Thus sung my Reginald, the innocent. 
The youth of twenty summers, who had felt 
The pangs of Cupid's arrow in his heart; 
And finished, brooded over other days, 
Those days of which his hejirt just sung its lay, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 17 

And wondered if she had forgotten him. 

For somehow would his inner thoughts foretell 

That she still thought of him as she had done, 

But was afraid to breathe the joyful word. 

When love does linger, but is not returned, 

Thou mayst know the devil's heart is light. 

And oft my Reginald, all unobserved. 

And with his heart deep yearning for that one, 

Vented his feelings in a verbal stream : 

" 1 wish I did not love thee ! there are times 

When hell doth seem more welcome than this life; 

For pains of body I can stand, — of heart 

And worry, such as thou mak'st me to bear, 

Are past endurance ! " 

And after such a burst 
He would reflect : " But still our sorrow, 
Or e'en those moments when we feel ourselves 
The victims of an unrelenting fate. 
Scourged and tortured, baffled and beaten down, 
Have yet their balance in a happier mood. 
And all our sufferings, all our bitter pangs, 
I d'^ believe with joy are compensated.'^ 

As thus we found him wandering on the beach, 
Full oft before our youth had done the same. 
For he had come to meditate, and look 
Upon the hut where Genevieve abode. 
Now when that iilver lantern of the night 



1^ A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

That lights the milky highway through the stars 
Had risen to the highest point, and cast 
The shadow of the cliff upon the beach, 
The youth rose rapidly and made his way 
Down to the water's edge. There long he stood, 
As if he saw a contest on the sea 
And staid to see the issue. But in sooth, 
He took no notice of the boundless deep 
Nor of the moon that shone upon its waste ; 
His eyes were turned far inward to his soul, 
And saw the clouds that darkened up his life, 
And then he wished a mighty wave would come. 
And bear him out across the boundless sea, 
That he might nevermore behold the shores 
Of Normandie, the land he called his home. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 19 



II. 

Scarce had he turned to make his homeward way, 

Than to his mind a final thought was borne, 

Away from home to live ! The ships were near, 

And anchored off the docks below the town. 

He would apply at once for service, 

And if successful leave this place of tears. 

" If thou art troubled, shun familiar scenes, 

And fresher scenes will drive the trouble out.'' 

'Twas thus he argued. Up the lonely road 

He made his way in silence and alone, 

His brain a fire that glowed with different lights. 



20 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Long at his gate he stood, and looked upon 

The scenes of childhood he was bent to leave: 

Below, the schoolhouse stood, which was to him 

A stimulant that stirred his burning brain 

To recollections of his earlier days ; 

The moonlight played among the fallen leaves 

Where he had romped with her in years before, 

And how his heart would throb,when thoughts like this 

Would come upon him, irresistable ; 

For he believed there never was a love, — 

E'en that of Abelard and Heloise — 

So sweet and tender, so unconquerable. 

It was too much ; for there are moments when 

Remorse can conquer will, and howso'er 

We struggle to withhold them, thoughts will rise 

That lead us into arts which we regret. 

And then iigain he moved and made his way 

Into his room, and there, all noiselessly 

He gathered in a bundle sundry things, 

As youths are wont to do when they depart; 

And searching for a moment, brought to light 

The pictured face of Genevieve, which she 

Had given him upon a summer's day. 

When they together, like a tropic breeze, 

Harmonious floated in a land of bliss. 

But then a thought arose, that like a hand 

Of some staunch guardian of the country's law 

Placed firmly on a reckless trespasser, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

Now held our Eeginald in fearful bound : 

How could he leave his mother all alone? 

And then he said, although it pained him much, 

" I will go to her ; she must let me go, 

I cannot stay now that my plans are made ; 

And Father from his cruise will soon return, 

So naught will be the loss because 1 leave." 

With that he 'roused her and explained it all, 

Pleaded and coaxed within the chamber dim: 

Remarked how short a time as yet remained 

Before his father would be home again; 

That he was grown, and she should not refuse, 

And on and on till morning did appear, 

But still she had the better argument. 

Another day of coaxing Hill at last. 

Reluctantly, she gave her sad consent. 

And many a tear and melancholy word 

She gave the morning that he left his home. 

And as he made his way adown the road. 

Unheard by other ears, this song he sung: 

"1 said farewell once on a time, 
But said the word with pain, 

And every day I breathed that word 
Until we met again." 

But there was something in his throbbing heart 

We cannot call remorse, although it bore 

A close affinity. Remorse and joy, 

And pride and sorrow, all were there in one; 



22 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Mingling enthusiasm of that sense 

Of feeling when at last the boyish traits 

Do pass away, the soul does realize 

Nature and powers of manhood are about 

Asserting their authority, and the thought 

That boyhood is no more, and though regret 

Does hold us part in bondage, yet we feel 

With pride, the moment comes th it brands the man. 

And then our Eeginald did realize 

That henceforth he must be in manhood's mood, 

That is but felt by only those who have 

Passed into it. Then in a jocund mood 

He smiled at his own weakness, and because 

He had been troubled by so small a thing. 

Upon the bay there floated many a ship 
Sporting the colors of the different lands. 
And boarding one our youth his services 
Offered for passage to its destination. 
Nor was he disappointed. When the sun 
Arose again, the scraping of the chains 
Awoke him, and he joined the vessel's crew. 
And now began the roughened sailor's work ; 
But on the deck when night had settled down, 
The men of many nations spun their yarns. 
To which our Eeginald would lend his ear : 
The tales of shipwreck on a desert coast, 
The mighty storms that swept across the main, 
The lack of food that overtook a crew, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 23 

And piracies, and murders,— stirring tales 

Told with the thrilling of a seaman's voice. 

But day by day the wind that bore them on 

Subsided, and at last the ship lay calmed. 

For days and days the sailors cursed the luck, 

And discontent against the captain rose, 

Whose mood waxed rougher as the sea grew calm ; 

And hour by hour disorder did increase 

Until in mutiny the crew arose, 

And drunk and frenzied brawled upon the deck. 

But Reginald, through all this mad ordeal 

Kept aft, and distant from the maddened crew, 

And joining with the captain and the mate, 

They quelled the riot, and the bark was saved. 

The calm passed over, and each rising sun 
Brought with it fresher winds to speed them on, 
And three day's sailing brought them to a bay 
Within the smallest of the Channel Isles. 
Near Jersey, where they breed the gentle kine 
Whose milk is fit for rare ambrosial. 
As rich as that which crowned the ample shelves 
Of Polyphemus in his cavern home. 
The awful, one-eyed giant of the isle. 
Who by Ulysses of his sight was robbed. 
When now the cargo was all put ashore. 
And Reginald in freedom found himself, 
He saw the ship weigh anchor, nor regret 
Once seized him ; he had cast his die and now 



24 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

All hopeful, yet not certain, bent his steps 
Beyond the little port, and made his way 
Far inland, caring little where he went. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 2 5 



III. 

Eive long and weary years have run their course 

Since Reginald set foot upon the isle, 

Bat still his thoughts dwell fondly on that one 

Whom he had left in haste so long ago; 

What though his heart was lighter, and the pain 

It once had felt was now entirely gone. 

Yet did sweet essence of that love remain, 

And ever near his fondly pulsing heart 

That treasured little picture he had kept. 

He had but one companion on the isle, 

An old enfeebled man, recluse and lone. 

And he a hermit, of that Godly kind 

Of quiet meditators who withdraw 

Their person and their spirit from the world 

And thus in abnegation look for light. 

Our Reginald had found him when a storm 

Was sweeping in its fury o'er the isle; 

When seeing on the mountain side a nook, 

He hurried there for shelter and for rest ; 

And nearing it was startled by a sound, 

Above the tempest's roar, — of human speech; 

But fearing not, he entered, and a hand 

Was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice 



26 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Imperfect from disuse addressed him thus : 

"Who art thou, friend? 
Who'er thou art, rest here, for I am one 
Who holds it sin to harm a beast or bird ; 
Leave not this cavern while the rain doth pour. 
I am thy friend, I say it once agdn, 
So tell me who thou art, and whither go ? 
And then he led our youth into a room 
Dim lighted by a dying ember's flame. 
And fuel was added and it brightened up, 
And by its light he viewed his aged friend : 
A massive frame once strong and vigorous 
Now all unfleshed and bended by the years ; 
White hair in tangled masses crowned his head, 
Deep sunken in the hollow cavities 
The piercing eyes of blackness kindled fire. 
But yet a look of kindliness they had 
That proved a tender heart beat low within. 
A beard of twenty summers hanging down 
Uncombed and tangled, brushed upon his clothes; 
Wild were his features, and his life had been 
E'en wilder, he with Nature had abode, 
Eking his living from the lowly earth; 
Herbs and berries and the crystal spring 
Had been his daily nursing, and in prayer 
And melancholy musings passed his days. 
And standing there, but speaking not, they let 
Their hearts pursue their way, which quickly found 



AND OTHER POEMS. 27 

A close affinity, and day by day 

As they together lived, a strong attachment grew. 

One day the hermit, calling to his mind 

The hour he gave his welcome to our f lend, 

Spoke tlius about it in his gratitude : 

"T'is most a proverb, that to do what's right 

Helps much yourself and he with whom it's donci 

I gave you food and shelter in my cave, 

I helped j^ou in your darkest hour of need, 

I did for you what I would others have 

Do unto me had I been as you were ; 

Nor have you failed to make a just return. 

As now my life is easier for your help. 

Thus gaining good for one kind action done. 

I almost swore an oath long years ago 

To never set mine eyes on man again, 

To live my life in deepest solitude 

Away from all the haunts of avarice; 

But oft I was compelled to look on men, 

As they passed carelessly about my home. 

But childishness now comes with hoary age- 

And once again I love the human race.'' 

And then did Eeginald his tale unfold. 

He told him all the history of his life 

From early boyhood to that very day, 

And then the hermit would persuade his friend 

To go again unto his Norman home, 



2® A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

But Keginald, with sacrificing heart 
Resolved to stay and watch the aged man 
Uatil his woiry pulse would beat no more, 
For well he knew the ancient's death was near. 
Bach evening through the balmy Autumn days 
They sat and talked outside their earthern home, 
And Reginald would oft repeat the tale, 
How happy he had been in younger days, 
And t lough he'd left that all might be forgot. 
He found it was a thing that could not be. 
Then darkened momenta came, that seemed to be 
E'en darker than the others had been bright, 
And then the hermit, as he drew a breath, 
Spoke slowly to his friend these truthful words : 
" Remember this, 'tis what all hearts must find ; 
However pleasant is the honey's sweet, 
The sting the bee can give will curdle it; 
That many days of pleasure are effaced 
By sudden sorrow that at times will come, — 
The darkness shrouds the merry beams of light, 
The weaker by the stronger is subdued." 

Another year passed on in solitude 

That slowly drained the hermit's cup of life , 

And oft his brain would wander, and he spoke 

Idle words, in wild confusion uttered, 

'Till day by day insanity would show 

Itself more plainly than the day before, 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^-J^ 

And Eeginalcl, bethinking proper food 

Would better his condition, made his way 

Down to the port one day in early fall. 

At noon dark clouds had gathered o'er the isle, 

And Eeginald made haste to gain the cave, 

But long before he reached it came the storm : 

In mighty sheets the rain was blown about. 

And loud the thunders pealed from cloud to cloud; 

Tr.e lightning flashed against the distant peaks 

That stood half hidden in the lowering clouds, 

And darker, ever darker grew the scene. 

But still did Eeginald pursue his way, 

A heart of love incased in bands of steel. 

But as the hardest storms are oft but brief. 

In one short hour the elements were clear, 

And Eeginald, foot weary, reached the cave. 

And with his tinder lit, he entered in. 

But lo, the fire was out, the room was empty I 

With knitted brow and fear upon his face. 

And imagination painting horror 

For him he loved, he hurried from the cave, 

And looked in all directions, and he called, 

But nothing answered save the echo's voice. 

And then he searched the woods, and all about,— 

Hour on hour he wandered o'er the paths. 

Until his weary feet would go no more. 

And he sank dowi to take th© needed rest, 

With giddy brain and all things round hi n whirling. 



36 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

At hist he rose and walked, lie knew not where, 
Until a sudden turning in the path 
Brought to his eyes a wild and fearful sight : 
A ghastly head with hair all smeared in blood, 
Disheveled, flowing o'er a frightful face 
Sunken and wretched, eyes that fury glared, 
Distorted limbs writhed up by agony,— 
All that was mortal of the hermit hoar 
In wilder form than maddened brain can draw, 
Hung in a path from lowly bending limb. 
And Reginald, with face a deathly white. 
Trembling and weakened, sunk upon the ground. 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^1 



IV. 



With morning's light our Reginald arose, 
Amd then prepared the body for its rest. 
Wrapped in what garments he could find within, 
He laid it in a grave within the room, 
And made his way without to ne'er return ; 
For who can linger, when before the eyes 
Lies the chill mould from which the vital spark, 
Like Noah's dove, went never to return? 
Around about the cave were mouldering logs. 
And here and there lay shrubbery and stones; 
Before the entrance first the logs he placed. 
And next the stones; and over these the brush; 
And yet to hide it all were leaves and earth. 
Till rustic art did vie with Nature's work, 



32 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

And then he said " 'Tis over, I will go," 
And breathed a silent prayer before he left. 

Along a seacoast road that lead into a town 

Surrounded by modest hills, and far 

O'erlooking ocean's boundless plain, 

A man was walking, glancing here and there, 

While on his face was curiosity 

Bc^picted plainly, mingled with smiles, 

Such signs as one displays when he returns 

To early haunts When Time has wrought its change. 

And quite bewildered by the strange aspect. 

Often he stopped, and looking all around, 

Would wonder if his course were leading right, 

Then on again with leaping heart he went, 

In happy mood along the path of old. 

At last the little town appeared in view, 
And Reginald then paused to see his home; 
How changed it was. The scene in other days 
That humble was, now all in splendor shone. 
The fruit, that unattractive is at first, 
Eipensand mellows with the summer suns, 
Till last in luscious beauty issues forth. 
Charming the eye and watering the mouth- 
So Eeginald compared his place of birth. 
He traced the street wherein he once had lived, 
But where the lowly house he called his home? 



AND OTHER POEMS. 3 3 

With rounded domes, and all in Gothic style 

A handsome mansion lorded o'er the place ; 

Like Philemon, he stood upon the hill 

And viewed the transformation Time had wrought. 

"Is this my home," he said, " where once I lived ; 

Can this be true, this change has taken place 

Or are mine eyes deceiving, as in dreams "?" 

Bat weary from the walk, he made his way 
Down to a tavern nearest where he stood. 
That he might there partake of food and rest. 
And having reached it, the landlord placed 
A chair before a table, and he filled 
A glass with spirits, and in jovial mood. 
All talkative as landlords ever are. 
Began, not thinkinj^ whom he did address : 
"How does it stand in your opinion now? 
Think you the rascal who doth forge his name 
And claims himself to be the absent son 
Of her who died two years ago and left 
Near half a million francs unto her son. 
Besides a vast amount of other property, — 
The finest that our city doth afiord, — 
If he should e'er return unto the plac e. 
Will prove he is the one, the lawful son ? " 
But seeing that his guest would rather hear 
Than answer to his questions, he went on. 
" Perhaps you have not heard about the case, — 



34 

A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Tlie case, the case ! Pve lived for fifty years, 
But never heard the like of it before. 
Have you not heard?" 

His guest returned, "I have not.'^ 
" What ! Then you must be a stranger in our town f 
I see you are, then I will tell it all. " 
And thea the landlord, with a serious main, 
Seating himself beside our Reginald, 
And filling both the glasses once again, 
Explained the case that worried half the town. 
"There died two years ago a widow here. 
From worry o'er her husband and her son ; 
The first upon the stormy sejis wa« lost, 
The second, ere the mcUmcholy news 
Had reached him, sailed away, believing that 
His f ith(T would in one short Vveek return ; 
But weeks passed into months, and months to years, 
But neither came, and whilst thej were away 
A close relation of this widow died. 
And left to her vast monies and estates, 
The last aa income brought and yearly paid ; 
The lands were sold, and she who once was poor. 
Became in wealth among the first in town, 
And built the noble mansion you have seen 
Standing midway between the shore and town ; 
And bought wide spreading acres for a park 
And yet 'mongst other things a fiisher's hut 



AMD OTHER POEMS. 35 

She purchased, and enclosed, and guarded well ; 
And to its former owner gave a home 
That he and his one daughter there, migiii; livv. 
In greater comfort. For she cherished much 
This fisher's daughter, who had been to her 
A source of comfort, and a guide and friend. 
Now when her will was made, she certified 
The house and sum should go unto her son, 
If, in the years to come he should return. 
The widow died; the son had not returned, 
And vainly time and money have been spent 
To trace him, or to gain some information. 
And finally there came a youth in town 
Who claims himself to be the rightful son. 
And weeks and months of hearing have gone on 
Before the lawyers to obtain the facts 
And set the matter dear. Tomorrow will 
The verdict be announced," 

Could pen but tell the feeling that arose 
Like some great wave to burst apart the dyke 
That trembles to withhold it; could I give 
Full color to the picture I would paint, 
Portraying human feelings to the quick, 
Such as there came to him who heard the tale, 
Then would I be a master of that art 
Through eons striven for, but seldom reached. 



A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

But Eeginald was calm. While other men 
Volcano-like, had burst their feelings forth, 
He held his heart in leash, vvhilo in his soul 
Hope, iear and joy marked their alternate power. 
Then looking squarely in the landlord's face, 
Demanded thus: "Good Sir, can this be true, 
The tale you tell? Can you but give his name, 
The name of this young scoundrel who has come 
Like fox into a peaceful shepherd's fold. 
Nursing a lie to gain him wealth and hell? 
Is Eeginald Moreau the name he claims?" 

"That is the name, the very name of him. 
And thou a stranger — thou art wise to guess ; 
But come, now, what does agitate you so? " 

And thus to him did Reginald reply 

Not in quivering accents, but as one 

Full proudly clothed in truth and conscience clear. 

"Wouldst thou believe an honest man, if he 

Should speak s 'und truth unto thy list'ning ears ? 

The truth, the tr .Ih ! I sa}^, and had the proof 

To bind this truth and make it clear to you?" 

" An honest man who spoke the simple truth ! 
You are excited— why, 1 should believe ; 
What were there left for me to do but that?" 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^7 

" Well, then, give ear. I am that sought-for heir ! 

f ea, do not interrupt, but listen yet : 

Five years, three months ago I left tbis town 

For reasons which I need not mention here; 

Near Jersey, in the Channel Isles, I lived 

And passed my years in dreary hermitage 

Oaring for one who had protected me, — 

A lonely anchorite. Some months ago 

Insanity overtook him, and his death 

Was his own deed. Now, when I laid him low. 

Unto the island^s little port 1 went, 

There lingered many weeks until a ship 

Whose destination was this Norman town, 

Dropped anchor in the bay. I boarded it 

And soon again was was on my native soil. 

Thus is my tale— a mere epitome. 

And now I ask you, will you be my friend? 

If courts can prove to you that I am not 

Him whom they seek, Against all the proof I have, 

Then I am yours to prosecute at will ; 

But being right, as thou shalt see I am, 

Tiien shall a rich reward accrue to you. '^ 

Up rose the landlord, all his face aglow. 
Excitement shaking all his portly frame, 
And thumping on the tabl«, cried aloud, 
" Young man, it is no trifling matter, this ! 
The town is weary of prolonged suspense, 



38 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

And I, and all tlie honest citizens 
Are doubting much this man's identity, 
Who does assume himself the rightful heir. 
Yes, I will be your friend ; but mark me well 
Thou must have strong and able proof, 
Or you will find yourself in atmosphere 
That is not pleasant." 

Then Reginald, 
His mind subdued, his heart now much at ease, 
Eeturned, "I have the proof; now give me rest, — 
I have been worried and I need repose." 

And when the sun, herald of mirth and toil 

Illumined again the little Norman town. 

The landlord woke his guest and breakfast served, 

A7id hurried to the court a mile away. 

Long rows of benches seated full, and all 

The doors and corners of the court were filled 

With bared-head spectators of every age. 

Upon the bench the bearded judge was seen 

And busy clerks with pen were seated 'round. 

The gavel fell, and quiet settled doAvn, 

The claimant was sworn in and asked to give 

Once more and last his views in self-support. 

And thus the court and judge he did address: 

" 1 look not in this crowd for sympathy, 
The people are against me here in town, 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 

And in a weighty matter such as this 
Sad is my heart that I have not a friend. 
Five years ago I left this very town, 
Pursuing various trades away from home. 
A year ago I chanced to read a notice 
Which had been circulated near and far 
Demanding information of a youth 
Who bore my very name, and who had left 
This Norman town the year that I had left ; 
And as I read, each line enthused me more 
As it described his general appearance, 
And that in every detail is as mine, — 
Could I do else than come to the conclusion 
That he who was demanded was myself! 
Yet knew I not why he was wanted so. 
For better or for worsen I reasoned deep ; 
I had no guilt to weigh upon my mind. 
And with an open conscience deemed it right 
And but my duty to reply at once. 
Then did I come, and what was my surprise ? 
What was my joy, my inward happiness 
To find myself the heir to an estate 
Surpassing anything my youth had dreamed I 
There is my tale. Can honesty avail 
In such a world of calumny as this ? 
I have no proof, and there is your pretext 
To rob me of mine own. With open heart 



40 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

And wishing malice unto none, I deem 
Myself the heir. At other time I gave 
A full account of ancestors and birth 
For you to work upon. I close, I ceftse.'^ 

" He speaks glibly I " cried a spectator, 

That started ripples through the crowded court, 

'' Why, if I only had so good a tongue, 

I might be heir to the fortune, too." 

Just then there was commotion in the court. 

The landlord leading Reginald along, 

Bowed to the judge, and begged a moment^s speech. 

" That man who has just spoken is a liar I 

I long have thought it ; he's a forger, too, 

No witness has he here in town or court. 

While I will give my honor by this man." 

Then pointing to the claimant, stung him thus : 

" Look at his sunken head 1 His cheeks, they pale ! 

See, court, it's guilt ! I wot his conscience now 

Is pricking and is burning to the quick ; 

But see, behold my man, see how his eyes 

Are bright, and in his face is only truth, 

Come now, my Eeginald, address the court." 

And then our hero, with commanding mein. 

Began in accents strong, and clear and true : 

Nor faltered as he told them ample facts. 

Full every detail of th' eventful past; 



AND OTHER FOEMS. 41 

And many a note aad date that bore apaia 
The history of the town, its citizens, 
He showed clear knowledge of the woman who 
Had left this will; of him who willed to her. 
And so convinced the court by evidence, 
By dates and figures that were not denied. 
That he at once won confidence from all, 
And then he turned, and in excited breath, 
With leaping heart, and heated brow and cheek, 
Casting his eye on every face around 
At once quite fearing, and yet confide nt, 
Asked of the judge, as well as those around 

" Is there a woman living in this town 
Who bore the maiden name of Audinot? 
Genevieve Audinot ? 1 speak that name 
For now, may hap, she has been married and 
Does bear another. Is there such an one 1 
For all my hope is centered in that name." 
There was a movement in the crowded court, 
A woman, pale and trembling issued forth, 
" Reginald, O Reginald!" she cried, 
" Can this be you, my pride in younger days ! 
Can you forgive the wrong that I have done! 
O Judge ! O Court! this is the rightful son, 
i am the cause for all this trouble here ! " 

The true nobility of mercy is 

Shown in the circumstance that calls for it, 



42 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 



j\nd he who mercy shows to those wbo have 
Done injury to them, is good indeed. 
Thus to a paining heart our Eeginakl, 
The past forgot in happiness, replied, 
"Dear Madam, thou art my salvation, now, 
Should I refuse your hand and turn from you, 
And use you only to make clear my name, 
Then were my nature meaner than a brute's. 

"Now listen, court, and Judge, while i essay 

To prove myself and clear a tangled web. 

But first, sweet woman, give thy present name.'^ 

"It is Leclare; but call me what you did 

Ten years ago when we were blithe and young."— 

''GenevievCj" he paused a moment, while 

A thrill ot youthful love o'er spread him tiiere; 

''Now make your memory play a noble part, 

And prove stid more the falseness of that v» retch, 

And let us clear the world of such a lie 

As he has dared to })ring upon its face. 

Long yearsago you gave tome a scroll 

Which bore the likeness of your handsome face, 

Can you describe it ? Please to do it then " 

There was a light and sparkle in her eye 

And joy unmeasured shown upon her tace 

All colored o'er and sweet to look upon. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 43 

** Oh, Judge !" she cried, I do remember well, 

Hear but my voice a moment. Long ago, 

Each franc that Father gave me I would save 

Until my little hands would overflow 

When I would hold them; with my money saved 

I bought a little frame, of silver wrought, 

With sweet forget-me-nots in gold around, 

And it was beautiful, and pleased the eye, 

And in the frame a little picture placed 

Of mine own face, and in a childish mood 

To Reginald I gave it, with a kiss." 

A smile and ripple went around the court, 

And Reginald, ecstatic, showed the scroll, 

And it was like to that which she described, 

And all the court in joyous cries arose. 



^4 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 



V. 



'^And DOW the threatening clouds have passed away 
Leaving the sky in all its azure clear 
And let us but rejoice o'er what has come." 
Thus spoke sweet Genevieve to Reginald. 
When after many years they found themselves 
Oftce more together, and all unobserved. 
A nd hardly giving Reginald a chance 
To utter his own thoughts, continued thus: 
''Had I then known the sorrow I should cause 



AND OTHER POEMS. 45 

To dwell within a youtli wlio thus has shown 

Himself to be as true and good as you. 

I would have gladly severed from my arm 

A hand, if it would have prevented such. 

And then I married. Father died, and so 

I had no one to help me on in life, 

And thus to live I gave my heart away; 

And he w;is good, but wanted perfect health, 

And death at last did conquer over life. 

He left me little, yet enough w^herewith 

To live upon in this my little home 

Which your dear mother gave to my loved sire. 

O, Reginald, my prayers have long been filled 

Witli pleadings for th}^ safety; they have been 

Well answered in His ujercy and His love." 

"And mine for tht^e. O Genevieve, my life 
Since last we parted has been darkened much 
By that last act of yours. Some men there be 
Who can forget the pangs of early love, 
Not such am I, and there still dwells in me 
That early passion, less ardent, may be, 
Caused by our separation, yet more sincere." 

Thus did thej talk; their troubles and their feelings 
Laid bare unto each other, and when night 
Was well advanced, a whispered word or two 



46 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

A short embrace, and then, yoath's dearest dream 
Was realized at last. 

The day was set, 
And then the merry news was spread around, 
And all the town rejoiced to hear of it, 
But ere the day, as they together satj 
In childish tone did Genevieve confess: 

''One night in Dreamland, as I lay reposed, 

A voice apprised me you were at my door, 

'Reginald has come, go meet him now,' 

And urged that I shoald go and greet you there. 

But then I argue<l on the sport it gave 

To hold you off, the more to draw you on: 

To make you speak to me before I spoke. 

And so to jest you for it afterward. 

Zou know young girls do like to conquer boys, 

To catch upon the ribbons of their heart 

And sportively to pull them as they like 

Then softiy came these words unto my ears, 

So sweet they rose the notes are echoing now. 

But first a question: You remember well, 

The tale of Thisbe and her lover, how 

They were divided by the wall of stone, 

And could not see each other, yet they spoke; 

And how, at last, when love would triumph well 

They by the ravenous lion were devoured^ 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 

With pleasing smile to this he did assent, 
And she went on in her sweet wonian^s voice. 
Putting the Avords into a little air 
She had composed Avhile oft repeating it: 

'^Thisbe spoke, but could not see, 

Here we saw, but would not speak; 
It was but the passion weak — 

Tell me, Muse, why such there be? 

''All the power is in your hand, 
But it reaches not your heart; 
Love you do, and loved thou art, 
Then whv let the evil stand ? 

"What think you, Keginald, of such a dream V 
''Tib such a dream as I would like to have, 
Tis such a dream as one may have in youth. 
Yes, well I am aware of girlish moods: 
Tou will command us, then, with altered voice 
Glide smoothly to entreaties, any way 
To get ahead of us. You thought it sport 
To give that sharp behest when you were young: 
'Go off I I do not want you any-more ! ' 
Then how you did entreat me in the court! 
IVe found you out, your sex, both old and young 
Does live serenely in the imperative mood." 

"But all's forgiven !" they together cried. 



48 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

The week wears on, the day is most at hand, 
And all the village gossips o'er the two, 
For never had they heard of such a tale, 
For never had they known so true a love; 
And blessing be upon the rising sun 
When with the ring these henrts together run. 



Part Second. 

"Other Poems." 



AMD OTHER POEMS. 51 

The Two Little "J's." 



Oh, have you not heard of the two little "J's" 
Who became so enamored by each other^s ways 1 
Who met and who loved all in one little week, 
Oh, have you not heard t Then of them I will speak. 

Having known many maidens, having known many boys, 
I have frowned on their troubles and smiled on their joys, 
And often have written how Dan Cupid plays. 
And now I shall write of the two little ^'J^s." 

I have no intention to write a long tale — 
Ah, well that I haven't for how I should fail; 
And so to be brief, which is always the best, 
ni begin with the "J" who came out of the West. 

Who came out of the West bringing joy in his wake, 
And brought it along for the other "J's" sake. 
He isn't so old, but he's old for his size — 
(Who guesses his age I should judge is quite wise.) 

His face isn't noble but such as to suit, 
A word the girls use, monosyllabic, "cute.'' 
There's a curl in his lip and a light in his eye, 
And a ring in his voice when he pitches it high. 



52 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

His temper is such as the temperate sun 

Produces in those it shines brightest upon, 

His spirit is active but calm in repose, 

And for "J" Number Two he's the dearest of beaMX. 

Now, "J" Number Two dwelleth here in our town, 
She is pretty in silks, or in plainest brown gown. 
Her hair is the kind that the artists of old 
Would give to their nymphs, a shade lighter than gold. 

Her eyes are bright blue, if I recollect well. 
But what lies beneath them no genius can tell, 
Although I have noticed while scanning them deep, 
That out of their corners young Mischief does peep. 

Now it chanced on a beautiful, bright summer day 
That "J" Number One met the other young "J;" 
And, Oh, were my pen ever able to tell 
Of the rapid heart-beats, and the sighing as well. 

Of the blushes of one, the brave looks of the other, 
The manifestations becoming a lover, 
But ne'er can I do it though hard I should try, 
So I put my pen down and reluctantly sigh. 

No pair ever loved half so deep or bo true, 
The days went along, and the love affair, too. 
They never grew cold, but they parted away, 
And now is the end of my romantic lay. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 53 



The Loving Cup. 

The Loving Cup, the Loving Cup, 

The Loving Cup with handles three, 

O, fill me high the Loving Cup, 

And let me drink, my love, to thee. 

A king upon a journey went. 

And while a-resting, he, 
A peasant maid did water give 

In cup with handles three. 



54 ^ TALE OF NORMANDIE 

And how it did delight the king, 
And how she smiod to him, 

And how the king did eye askance 
That maiden fair and slim. 

The monarch tarried there about 
And wooed the peasant maid. 

And drank they deep the Loving Cup 
Beneath the evening shade. 

" And come with me, " he said at last, 
" And follow me, " he said, — 

Away with him she went, she went, 
And did the monarch wed. 

The Loving Cup, the Loving Cup^ 

The Loving Cup with handles inree. 

O, fill me high the Loving Cup, 

And let me drink, my Lore, to thee. 



AND OTHER POEMS, 

The Ballad of Jennie Brown. 

This rhyme of mine is a rhyme of the time 
When our fathers were boys like we, 
And they wore their clothes — as 1 suppose— 
With as much propriety. 

There lived in a town a young Miss Brown, 

A lady of style was she, 

And the tale I tell, it once befell 

Thj^s lady of quality. 

There wasnH a man (so the story ran) 
In the old New England Town, 
Who was not aware of the lady fair 
That was christened Jennie Brown. 

Her hair was dark, and a heavenly spark 
Would flash from her lovely eyes; 
Her figure good, and as fine her blood 
As nature could ever devise. 

And many a dupe with awkward stoop 
Had humbled himself to her; 
And now and then the sensible men 
ShA used her arts to lure. 

Oh, as many loves as awkward moves 
An elephant makes in a day, 
Had young Miss Brown in the cozy town 
Built o'er New England^s way. 



^^ A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

But she threw them off with a laugh and a cough, 
And prepared the next to catch, 
And she thought it fun, when the day was done, 
This jilting her art would hatch. 

But there came a day when the men that way 
Had let her alone for good, 

And the days she sighed, and the nights she cried, 
In her lovely maidenhood. 

The days went on, and her lovers were gone — 
Were married many a year. 
And she mourned her fate and her single state 
With many a salty tear. 

Her beautj^ of youth (I am telling the truth) 
A¥as slowly fading away; 
And she worried deep, and she lost her sleep 
Until her locks were gray. 

Her beauty was gone, and her cheeks were wan, 
And her heart was sad, I'm sure, 
When a happy scheme, like a sudden gleam 
Aroused this maid demure. 

She'd buy some locks from the milliner's stocks, 
Of a lovely, golden hue, 

And she'd paint her cheeks, like other freaks 
Who have had the art to rue. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 57 

She kept the locks in an ebony box 
With jeweled hinges bright, 
And every morn the locks were worM, 
And she put them back at night. 

And she was vain and young again — 
At least she reasoned so, 
And she went to a town, did Jennie Brown, 
And captured a little beau. 

Oh, a little beau named so-and-so, 
So nice, so sweet, so small, 
But he didn't know the dreadful woe 
Into which he soon would fall. 

She took him away, and her heart was gay, 
And his the same, I fear; 
But when the night revealed them right, 
Oh, there was many a tear. 

For the little boy, so nice and coy, 
He wasn't a man at all; 
And the little girl with the golden curl, 
She wasn't a girl at all ! 

Ana now ye maids with lace and braidi, 
And beauty that cannot last, 
Take while you can an honest man, 
Nor turn them off so fast. 



58 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

To an Iron Bedstead, 

(At College.) 

O little bed, 

With spread of red, 

And many parts of iron on you, 
Fu^ many a night, 
A' tired and tiglit, 

Fve laid me down to sleep upon you. 

The roof above, 

As if to love, 
Slants over you, O bed a^ downy; 

The while I sleep, 

In dreamland sweet, 
Thro^ hours o' night to early mownie. 

By night or day 

As there I'd lay, 
I've kingly felt in sweet reposie; 

Na pomp or gold, 

But manifold 
The joy o' feeling safe and cozy. 

Oft through my head 
Auld legends sped, 
O' ancient knights and ladies airy, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 55 

And crazy kings 
Whose death cry rings 
Still in my ears eno^ to searie. 

O little bed, 

With spread o^ red, 
I love you as I love no other, 

For while I sleep, 

You me safe keep, 
Ab I was kept once by my mother. 



Mien Etre. 

I have not seen a lovelier face than thine, 
I have not known a kindlier heart than yours, 
And though I roam me over many a clime, 
In northern realm, or lovely tropic shores, 
Still would I find not such toward whom I might Incline, 



60 A TALE OF NORMANDIH 



Cupid. 



O Cupid, Cupid, why so mean, 

To pass so hard these hearts between? 

Why with such stealth and treachery move. 

Between two hearts once locked in !ove ? 

Why in and out so wildly flee 

And strike a being such as me ? 

Oh, can it be that Venus gave 

Such cruel tactics to her slave ? 

Or can it be you pleasure find, 

In acting so, for you are blind ? 

O'er streams of life must ripples roll, 

But you're the wave that wrecks my soul. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 61 

The Tomb of Washington. 



I stood before the hero's grave, 

When quiet and solitude around, 

A lovelier charm and beauty gave 
To that beloved, historic ground. 

When Autumn lent her myriad dyes, 
And woodland odors filled the air, 

I viewed the tomb wherein he lies. 
So sad, so quiet, and so fair. 

I saw within the grated door 

The covered caskets where abide 

At present and forever more 

The wife and Father side by side. 

The limpid waters down below. 

The verdant woodlands pass J>nd kiss, 

And spreading outward softer flow 
As being sensible of this. 

And up the winding path is seen 

Through spreading branches high and low 
That interwind in luxuriant green, 

The ancient home, the portico. 

The sense of greatness thereabout 

With which the grounds associate, 

Like inspiration, draweth out 
A feeling nearly passionate. 



62 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

For o^er those very paths he trod , 

His voice has echoed o'«r the land, 

vVhen, guided by the hand of God, 
He saved us from the tyrant hand. 



Lines. 

(Vfitteti on a fly leaf of acopy of Tennyson's In Memorian, given to G. J, S. 

Kead, but for me, O Child, what here I give, 

E*en though you may not for thyself desire 
To put thy time upon it, yet believe 

The spark that glows in me is of the fire 
• 
That forged these verses, pensive, half divine ; 

For in my youth I poured o'er them and found 
A solemn inspiration in each line, 

A beauty, and a feeling, and a sound 

That echoes through me. What ihou readest here 
My lesson first in rhythmic line has been. 

And though its sadness may invoke a tear, 
I doubt not it will work thee good within. 



ANU OTHER POEMS. '8 



Ode to Hilarity. 

Our purses full, we owe no debt. 

So let us all be merry, 
A glass of ale our taste to whet, 

And then a glass of sherry. 

Come, fill up the glasses and loosen your wit, 

For we'll sip and we'll laug'i 'til our aching sides split* 

The evening is short and the hours fly along, 

So give way to mcirriment, glasses and song. 

The minutes have wings or they crawl like a snail. 

If there's joy in the air or we sorrows bewail ; 

No thoughts of the morrow or sorrow have we. 

So merrily, merrily, merrily be. 

The back log is straining the andirons below, 

Every face with a smile does reflect the fire's glow. 

No girls are around to tell tales of the spree, 

^Ml the more shall we merrily, merrily, lie, 

* or Bacchus shall reign as he never before, 

As his drug drifts us on to Oblivion's shore. 



64 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

The Delirium. 

Here's a song for those in trouble, 
And a way to get them out, 
Blow the pipe, and break the bubble, 
Drink the wine and jag about 1 

For a moment court the devil. 
Quaff the cup and drown your care 
In the rum whose lowest level 
Is in those that lie and swear. 

Here's a song for you, my honey — 
I have loved you, it is o'er; 
Do not smile, it isn't funny, 
Curse this endless Cupids's lore! 

Break the bottle, fill the cup. 
Here's a toast for you and me: 
He must fall who would get up. 
Let us drink it merrily. 

Worms that glow in darkest corners. 
Are but tokens of the worst : 
Those that die and leave no mourners 
Are the ones forever curst. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 65 



Then forget the eight of Heavem, 
There it isn't yours to dwell ; 
Those that have not tried and strivem 
Cannot hope for more than hell. 

Then caromse, and be ye merry, 
Since there isn't hope for you, 
Drink the rum, the wine, the sherry, 
Make one stomach hold for two ! 

Break the bottle, fill the cup, 
Here's a toast for you and me : 
He must fall who would get up ! 
Let us drink it merrily. 



CO A TALE OF NORMANDIE 



A Song of Twenty-One. 

Pm twenty-one to-day, boys, I^m twenty-one to-day, 
And oh, the happy Bchemes, boys, that in my fancy play! 
The world is twice as bright, bovs, than I have known before, 
The voice of friends is sweeter, too, a hundred times, and 

more. 
I've got the world before me, boys, and though they say it's 

hard, 
My Twenty-first has borne me strength no fate shall e'er 

retard. 
I dreamed when Ten that love was sweet,but oh, as it is now, 
You can but know when Twenty-one has crept across your 

brow. 
Th* n fill for me the glasses boys, V\l do for you the same. 
When you have reached your Twenty-first, the proudest 

hour, I claim ; 
And raise for me the glasses, boys, and tou h them while we 

sing. 
In ecstacy, the joy he feels who's Twenty -one in Spring I 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 

The Pessimist to His God. 

" There is more truth in honest doubt. 
Believe me, than in half the creeds." 

O, tell me Muse, or gods of fabled strife, 
What is this wandering journey we call life ! 
I cannot reason deep, I am not such 
A kind that God has made, possessing much 
Deep reasoning and mystifying thought. 
Stir, would I like to know, Why was my being wrought"? 

Since truth, they say, of dust man was begun. 
To dust return when this, the life is run. 
Why, when he was created, didst Thou plan 
A troubled career while through life he ran. 
And dying, knows not whence he is to go, 
But, conscious of some lin, fears that it is below ? 

Reward of life, HelPs yawning chasm there ! 
With Charon's beckoning hand in this, our lait 

despair 1 
Eternal fire, damnation, punishment ! 
The guerdon of a weak hearths rash consent, 
When, unaware, sin took it to beguile, "^ 

And all succumbed to Pleasure's sweet, alluring smile. 



^8 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

I rose on earth, a weakling and unlearned, 
I turned for aid, but everywhere was spurned; 
I found all laws adverse to man's advance; 
A waste of briars upon a wide expanse 
O'er which I had to go, my hands and eyes 
The instruments a roadway its making to devise. 

And on I strove, with failure or success, 
This weary heart to lighten or depress , 
And here and there upon the broad expanse 
A rose of beauty caught upon my glance : 
And these were sorts of pleasure, but around, 
To tantalize the passions arose a warning sound. 

Of these all were but beautiful, here and thert, 
Albeit, nodded one extremely rare; 
But as the power for lurring did enlarge, 
Loud and severer rang the warning charge, 
"Forbear, 'tis hell who takes a taste of these." 
liiit feeling was predominant, and I took, my knees 

Were weak beneath me, I had ta'en. and felt 
That according to my deed I should be dealt. 
But strength arose anon, and then I said, 
"Why feared I so? what lies beyond the dead 
Is all uncertain, we are on a sea 
Of various disputes over that which is to b«. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 69 

"And siding nowhere, have 1 not the ri^ht 
To judge beliefs all wrong, and death a blight, 
Wanting in all, and Hell a mighty sham 
To make me move from what i rcully am? 
But fearing it, and deeming it the measure 
/>f punishment for sin, make life devoid of pleasure. 

"But being right have I not on this earth 
Lived happily in all degrees of mirth, 
And dying, find not hell my soul to take, 
But mere oblivion tho goal at stake ? 
While they that humbled flesh, nor drunk the cup, 
What have they gained when this, their life, is given up ? " 

I choose of two: a life of piety, 
Or take my share as in society, 
Forgetting the soul and loving but the flesh. 
And weaving thicker, as I live, a mesh. 
That be i wrong another life shall make 
Of punishment thereof my soul entire to take. 

Thus have I reasoned as my life wore on, 
And of my various works, when I am gone. 
Of what was good, how have they benefitted 
This all corrupted earth, so badly fitted 
To have the true nobility of good 
That in the few doth rise and passionate the blood? 



Q A TALE OF NORMANBIE 

What are the planets, are they worlds like this f 
What is the mood of living, strife or bliss 1 
If worlds they be. has the incarnate form 
Of Him appeared, their sacrilage to storm ? 
Or are there countries grandlier formed than the; 
Where life's a glorious heaven, conformity and ease ? 

I envy not some wild, untutored race 
That lives without the fear of Judgment's face, 
Nor the impoverished heathen, neither, yet, 
The Orient ds 'neath their minaret, 
Whose lives are spent as by the revelation 
Of him at Mecca, with unstinted recreation, 

I am content with wbat I am, but find 
My mind in various ways most disinclined 
To put belief in that which e'er has hung 
A:? guidance o'er a world since it was young, 
Teaching us ever the mystery of life. 
Which in itself has been the point of endless strife. 

To Homen 

The lofty strains of the Scian bard ! 
What though the countless years are run, 
Those countless years his lines record 
As fresh as when they were begun. 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 

The Song of Wanton Wa-Wa« 

"Written for E. A. W., with Apologies to H. W. Longfellow. 

Should you ask me whence this story, 

Whence this strange, unheard-of story 

That I'm writing in this metre, 

Just to please a lovely maiden, 

Just to make a lovely maiden 

Feel that life is less a burden 

Bj the pleasure that it gives her, 

I should answer, I should tell you, 

From the brain of Wanton Wa-Wa, 

From the brain of that strange creature 

Whom the fates have surnamed ^'Wa-Wa'^ 

Whom the fates have doomed forever 

To a life that's strange and dreamy, 

With his head all full of rhyming. 

And his hands unused to labor. 

He who sits and smokes the Peace pipe. 

While the maidens dance around him, 

Asking : ' 'Whence this mighty genius f 

Whence this power of snatching fancies. 

And the power of putting fancies 

Into lines of even measure?" 

Once, when Wa-Wa, sad and weary, 

After many months of study. 

Left his college and his study, 



72 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Left the place to which the maiden 
Oft addressed her pretty letters, 
Sought the ease of Western country, 
Sought the town wherein the maiden 
Lives her life of fun and frolic 
Came upon a summer morning 
Came when all the bees were humming, 
And the orchards were o'erladen 
With the fruit that fair Pomona 
Loves to tender in the summer. 
Loves to watch in starry evenings 
When the hearts of happy lovers 
Hold communion with each other. 
Each afraid to tell the secret 
That is wearing them to pieces, 
Such the time when wanton Wa-Wa 
Went to seek the lovely maiden 
Who had sent the pretty letters. 
And had always closed the letters 
With the sentence, ''I am weary". 
Who had said she loved him dearly, 
(With a love that is Platonic,) 
But the maiden did not know it, 
Did not know that Wanton Wa-Wa 
Had so early come to see her. 
Then when Wa-Wa all ecstatic. 
Went with heart as light as fancy 



"AND OTHER POEMS. 73 

To the house to find the maiden, 
To the house wherein the maiden 
Often entertained poor Wa-Wa, 
He, young Wa-Wa, saw the maiden. 
Walking with another fellow. 
With a fellow that was handsome, 
Handsomer than Wanton Wa-Wa, 
j^.nd the heart of Wanton Wa-Wa 
Sank as does a stone in water, 
Sank with all its glory in it. 
Sank and sank, and found no bottom ; 
Then he turned, all hope departing. 
Turned him from that cruel maiden. 
And with strides that Polyphemus 
Would have judged extremely mighty, 
With a stride that some wild rabbit 
Would have judged extremely rapid, 
Fled, and uttered direful vengeance. 
Uttered words that are not pleasant 
All about that wicked maiden 
Who had left poor Wanton Wa-Wa, 
Left him for another fellow! 



74 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

O, Canst Thou Not ? 



O, canst thou not, when night is low 
And storms are blowing o'er the lea 

Forget thyself a moment, O, 

And let thy thoughts drift back lo mef 

Or cannot swelling heart within 

Oompell the rising of thy breast 1 

Or but remorse for what has been 
Eeturn again, like birds to neat? 

Hast thou not in thine eyes a tear 

That yet would fall for me? 
Hast thou no kisses left, my dear, 

That mine again shall be ? 

And canst thou not recall the days 

We spent at school of yore ? 
While o'er thy brow sweet memory strays^ 

Ne'er known so sweet before 

Alas, we know not half the iruth 

Of joys that fleeing be, 
But when is gone this happy youth, 

O, call them back with me. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

The Last Oak of Shervv'-ood Forest* 

'' strike me not, O, sturdy woodsman, while as yet I am not 

dead. 
Centuries have rolled beneath me since I raised on earth my 

head. 
And I stand a lonely monarch — for my race has died away — 
Looking on the stars at even and the busy world by day, 
I have seen my comrades falling all around me, one by one, 
So I ask you, leave me standing 'till my vital parts are run: 
Then, when all my leaves have fallen, and my arms are 

hanging low. 
And I feel n<o more the rain drop, or the winter's sturdy 

blow; 
When my trunk is dry and splitting and my roots imbibe no 

more. 
Fell me, and, while I am falling, listen to my crash and roar. 
With me then shall go the stories which the ages caused to 

be', 
From the Saxons' early ages through the days of Chivalry; 
When I saw the fields around me soaking oft with human 

blood, 
Conflicts waged by greedy nations coming here from o'er 

the flood; 
When I learned the sign of battle in the night so clear and 

still. 
By the glimraering camp fires burning brightly on the 

distant hill; 



76 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

When I saw the knights in armour on their chargers ride 

afield, 
And the hills returned the echoes when the brazen bugles 

pealed. 
England, garden thou of warfare, nourished with the nation's 

blood! 
All thy conflicts have I witnessed through my days of 

hardihood. 
Nightly would the Dryads gather 'round my trunk so huge 

and st ong, 
Like the Druids 'round their altar told in story and in song; 
But no more I hear the bugle, nor behold the knight 

sublime — 
They are hurled away forever off the flying axis, Time ! 
Then I saw the cities 'round me raise their spires high in 

air, 
And I often said within me: 'Slowly grows the world more 

fair ; ' 
But, alas, when all was gaining, I was losing day by day. 
From the surging, restless progress slow my comrades died 

away." 
Here the lofty lord of Sherwood, as excitement in him grew. 
Hurled upon the man below him all the horrors that he 

knew : 

"Where are thejrl I cry, I shudder; you have robbed me, let 

me be ! 
Use your axe upon another, strike not such an aged tree ? 




^'■When I saw the knights in armour on their chargers ride afield, 
And the hills returned the echo when the brazen bugles pealed.'' 

— Page 76 _ 



AND OTHER POEMS. 79 

I will hurl my limbs upon you, crush your dwelling with 

my breath, 
In your dreams I'll fall upon you, mock your agonies of 

death, 
If you cut a notch upon me with your tempered blade of 

steel. 
So again I tell you, leave me, ere my warning- words are real! 
Ah, he hears me, every moment, like the years his form 

recedes. 
While my throbbing heart within me on a glorious future 

feeds!" 



80 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

An Invocation. 

Thou great Invisible that comfort gives 

To him who seeks it on the bended knee 

With open heart, in prayer that breathes and lives, 

Look down with Thy compassion here on me I 

Give me mine eyes, that I may see, 
Give me mine ears, that I may hear, 
And then I care not what were lost to me, 
If this be answered, life wert really dear. 



Song. 

The moon is rising over the sea, 

And my love, my love, he is coming to me, 

In a shallow bark he is coming o'er. 

And we soon shall meet on the moonlit shore. 

And I'll hurry me down to the shore to-night, 
And meet my love in the pale moonlight, 
And he'll take me out on tlie lonely sea, 
And we'll drift away in our bliss-to-be 



MSiD OTHER POEMS. ^^ 

Despondency* 

All the world has changed its color, 

All the world is drear to me, 
And the people whom I trusted 

Are not what they seemed to be. 

Were I ever once vivacious, 

Were there lively soul within, 
'Tis drunked to melancholy 

By the things that might have been 

The roses once their beauty showed 

Upon the morning ray, 
I pass them by unnoticed, now, 

And turn my head away. 

The hopes that were my guiding reins, 

Have slackened in my hands. 
And all the thoughts of future joys 

Are scattered like the sands. 

The ruins that behind me lie. 

In darkness, of the past, 
No more shall raise their crumbled sides, 

And laugh at winter's blast ; 

But lie where they have fallen. 

Forsaken and forlorn, 
V.nd dwindle into nothingness, 
Of all their beauty shorn. 



82 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Lines On Leaving America, 

The poem was wriUen abjut a month before an expected tour of 
Europe, and deals with the personal affairs and general opinions of the 
writer. After having made all arranj^eraents for the trip, even to en- 
gaging my stato room, seTerai circumstances prevent<-'d its pursuance. 

Several expressions in the poem may suggest, that tlie writer pos- 
sesses too good an opinion of his own ability; he has no such thought; 
but. every writer, great or small, believes, and has a right to do so, that 
he has gifts that are not homogeneous to all, and sinne it is the nature 
of man not to acknowledge tiiis, deep injustice is ft-lt, modified by the 
naturally strong and sensitive spirit of such persons. The poem was writ- 
tan at one sitting, except four verses, and in a passion of love, disdain 
and remorse, and under such compulsions, one is liable to express him- 
self in a manner either boastful, or at least displeasing to others. But I 
shall leave the poem as it is. — H. T. 

"Oh! That the desert were my dwelling place, 
With one fair Spirit for my minister, 
That I might all forget the human race, 
And hating no one, love but only her! 
Ye Elements! in whose ennobling stir 
I feel myself exalted — can ye not 
Accord me such a being? Do I err 
In dreaming such inhabit many a spot? 
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot." 

Farewell, sweet land, America! my home, 
Farewell, I've cast my lot with those that roam, 
And howsoever fair the lands to see, 
However grand the sights and ruins be, 
Still, will the link that binds me to thy side 
In me, where'er I go, eternally abide. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 83 

And I have loved thee dearly, O my Shore ! 
Th}^ hills and d.-des my lessons oft have been, 
And now, departing, do I love then more, 
And all Lay heart and soul leaps toward thy fading scene ! 

Ad that is dear and ever shdl be dear 
To me in my lost youth I leave with thee, 
Whose recollections urge th' reluctant tear 
That yet shall rise to fall beyond thy encompassed sea. 

My life has not been what my God had meant, 
1 grew unguided, like a plant that's wild. 
To foolishness in youth I e'er was bent, — 
Oh, that the ills of liie should seize a helpless child ! 

I was am])itious in my early youth; 
God knows it is not waning in me now! 
And those that scorned it yet shall know the truth. 
And find in future years there's something 'neath this brow ! 

I've been deceived by those I trusted most, 
I've loved, and treated kindly those I loved, 
I've tried my best with all, but cannot boast 
That what I've done for them, by them has been approved. 

O God! it is the curse of some to be 
Most unappreciative of an act 



84 A I'ALE OF NORMANDIE 

P^-'i-formed by those whose wish it is to see 
Such persons benefitted, nor wish a guerdon back. 

I have not much to live for in this world, 
It is not what my youth had dreamed it was ; 
Oh! how the truth of mature years has hurled 
Those sweet and fair assumptions that are one's early flaws I 

There is no one to mourn me as I go, 
The friends I have, tliey will not miss me much. 
And yet I love them dearly, and I know 
Of one whose power it is to thrill me with her touch ! 

But I have left her — if I ne'er return, 
(And m}' returning were alone for her,) 
Then may her heart but for a moment burn 
For me in sad rememb'rance, then quench it with a tear ! 

Child, thou hast been heaven unto me ! 
And thou at times hast made my mind a hell; 
Where'er my feet, my heart shall lie with thee. 

And howsoe'er thy thoughts, I wish thee only well. 

1 look with pleasure to the gladsome morn 
When fair Columbia, again shall be 
Revealed before me as the day is born, 

And I shall step ashore with tales for them and thee. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 85 

But if I do not come, and days wear on 
Until a year unrolls itself again, 
Then mayst thou say, "He went, and he is gone, 
We warned him of the peril, but warned him a in vain.^' 

And comiag back no more thou mayst know 
A youth has died whose name was writ in tears; 
Whose mind was not of earthly things below, — 
A youth whose very soul glowed like the heavenly spheres. 

None but a poet knows a poet's love; 
None but a poet knows a poet's pain; 
Oh, but the passions that my heart do move I 
Oh, but the agonies that herein have lain ! 

Class me as thou wilt, a bard or not, 
I feel that God has given unto me 
All that constitutes a poet's lot, 
I feel the current now, and it came in infancy ! 

Ah, daily, yes, and nightly do I see 
Beings before me, not in flesh, but there 
In various postures, beautiful and free. 
Leading me on by gesture through mystic realms of aif. 

I've written much in my short space of life, — 
But little heed have people given it, 



8^ A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

And friend and foe alike hnve used the knife 
To cut ambition's wings when they began to flit. 

And 1 submit; but feel an inward pride 
That what I've writ is not of common birth, 
My thoughts on Inspiration proudly ride, 
And carries me above the lowliness of earth. 

And in that thought I glory and I feel 
Within myself an exultation here, 
And ihough I'rn naught to those with whom I deal 
The atmosphere around is a hundred times more cleai- 

I have not shown my feelings, they have been, 
Like lonely Eremite, concealed to view, 
But they hare wrought destruction here within, 
That if for damage seek, an unseen power must sue! 

Pve oft considered what it is that makes 
The divers dispositions of the sane. 
And how I've sorrowed for the heart that takes 
The wealth of Croesus with the love of Cain ! 



The world is all deception ; it is not 
What it should be. the times are loose and vain 
And Fashion is the worm that yet shall rot 
The glorious patriotism and strength of former reign. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 87 

We hear no more of deeds whose doings were 
Echoed and lauded over land and sea; 
No more the lofty harp, its dying slur 
Is but the shadow of that which ne'er again shall be. 

I can imagine, Christ, our Savior born, 
How hard You struggled to impress the good, 
That, like a crystal spring at early morn, 
Fresh from Thy heart arose with essence of Thy blood. 

And thus I've wished 1 were not living now, 
But that my eyes an earlier time* had seen, 
When fresh enthusiasm on the brow 
Of this vain world arose and cast a grander mien. 

But we are in His hands, it is not ours 
To make our destiny, but like the flamef 
To which the Hindoo maiden 'neath the stars 
Intrusts her hope, we drift along all helpless to disclaim. 



* The Renaissance. 

t It was once the CHstom in India, and perhaps it still prtrails, for 
the girls to assemble on the banks of a river at night after the depart 
ure of loved ones upon a dangerous journey, or war. While thus gath- 
ered they would set adrift balls of flame in dish-sbaped floats. In ex- 
pectation they would watch them drift away; if they went beyond vievr 
still burning, their bethrohed would return ; if they were extinguished, al 
hope were lost. 



8« A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Only a Kiss. 

Only a kiss, that isn't much, 
But, then, it was my all to me 

And deeming it to be as such, 
I thought, and gave that kiss to thee. 

And since I gave it thee, my whole. 
My life, my being, and my heart, 

With love that riseth from the soul 
Went with it, may it never part. 

From thee, and if it do enrich 
Thy precious self, so pure and good, 

say it, it is thanks, the which 
Alone imparts f happier mood. 

1 live for thee, it seemeth though, 
That thou wert made alone for me 

And all the fires that in me glow 
Are brightened by a look from thee. 

Thou, whom above all others I 
Find better, lovelier, dearer far, 

Take what 1 give, and in reply, 
Be mine; and as of old a star 

Did guide the sages through the night. 
So do for me, and ever tend 

To lead me as thou deemest right. 
And thus will love and duty blend. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

The Girls at Home* 

)re are no girls like those at home 
Such bonny girls as they be ; 
1 though about the world you roam 
Where other girls there may be 

As beautiful, and charming too, 
And bred as well, their blood as blue, 
1 laugh and dance and gay be, 
Your heart is strange, if they to you 
th half the pleasure pay thee. 



A Letter* 

[ToG. J. S.] 

Since you have written letters two, 
And I not one have written, 

I thought my part I'd better do, 
And dare not risk the mitten. 



i^O A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

It^s very fine to turn a rhyme 
To throw away or treasure, 

Bui whereas the good in this of mine 
I'm writing in this measure ? 

There isn't any good, it's true, 
It's all for fun, that'^s vanity. 

The man that rhymes is often blue, 
With symptoms of insanity. 

But there are those who are not so, — 
I try to be that kind, dear, 

You'll find by how my verses go 
Their style 's a strong reminder. 

You sent me twenty kisses, say, 
I do at once return ^em, 

Since you have said 'twas all in play, — 
Such kisses, why, I spurn 'em! 

But if, wuen no one is around, 
No gentlemen or misses. 

You purse your lips, nor make a lound, 
I'll take a dozen kisses. 

And then to keep it quiet, as if 

We both were bound in apathy; 

For if they hear of it a whifF, 

They'll tease ub both like taffy, see f 



AND OTHER POEMS. 91 

And now I ask you, have you done 

The work I did command you ! 
I know it isn't any fun. 

But not till then Pll hand you 

The circle beautiful that holds 

The gem that sparkles rare, 
That passionately couples souls, 

The brave unto the fair. 

Oh yes, I know you want it, well, 

It is the way of mortals. 
And many a soul for Mammon fell 

Forgetting heavenly portals. 

The world is all an awful fake, 

The men and women fakirs, 
Some strange religions do they make. 

Yet are religion breakers. 

A promise is an empty thing — 

But one in ten will keep it, 
Be careful every word you fling. 

Or you may sorely reap it. 

Fm not a cynic, yet I find 

Mistakes in Nature's doings, 
And though it's best to keep behind 

Our pessimistic brewings, 



92 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

A little airing now and then 

Will make you feel the better, 

And though you get the scorn of men, 
You still will hold the letter. 



There is a class of men to-day, 
I call them "Criticisers," 

They always know the better way, 
Yet are the worst advisers. 



Some day, when I am quite a man 
I'll put in print my verses. 

And settle down as best I can 
And listen to the curses 

These critics write and hurl at them, 
InWgry mood, and sneer, 

The while I sit and surl at them. 

And judge them deucedly queer. 

But what care II I'm free and gay, 
These critics to the devil ! 

ni think of you, my love, alway, 
And meet them on their level. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 93 

And in my mouth I'll hold a pipe, 

And I'll idly puff and say, 
''Oh, the world is bright for those who write, 

And a hundred times as gay 
As for those that can't, that rave and rant, 

And worry their lives away! 
I've got a muse that I often use, 

And a girl that loves me, too, 
So let the world about abuse. 

My skies shall all be blue!" 



Antitheses* 

Should we applaud for that which is not good ? 
Should we uproot a weed and call it food? 
Should wise men bow their heads unto a dunce t 
'Twould beat the four winds blowing all at once! 



94 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

To a Rose^ 

Its petals are red, a soft deep red, like the lips of her that 

gave it, 
It wa8 plucked from her breast when the year wa^ born,^ — who 

wonders that I save it ? 

And she said : ^ 'Take this, and keep it, and remember me 

by it, " she said, 
But it takes not a rose nor a gift more rare her image o'er me 

to spread. 

The year was born, and young and fresh, like her, and we 

stood in the hall, 
And we were alone, and the lights were dim, and only the 

cheery call 

Of hitu who cried for the dance's change in the room across 

was heard, 
And we were t(» part and my heart beat low, and my eyes 

with tears were blurred. 

Sho had been to me as the dearest, sh« rejoiced and lightened 

my heart, 
And all too soon had the days worn on to the hour that 

should see us part. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 55 

And the rose with its petals red, 1 shall keep r as long as 

I live, 
For her heart went with it, I thought me then, and 1 still 

have cause to believe. 

She and the rose were young that niffht, and lovely in early 

bloom, 
But the rose is dead, for its life was short, and there yet may 

come the gloom 

O'er a heart that bursts when the dearest is lost, and hope 

must sink like the sun — 
For oh, she was kind and good to me and I love her for what 

she has done. 



FRAGMENT. 

■ Tis well to love, what though we do not win, 
And through the years its memory to keep, 
And, all oblivious to the worldly din, 
Back to those moments in our dreams to leap. 



96 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

The y"isicn of the Wanderen 

I wandered over many a hill 

And dragged myself along, until 

I rested at the close of day 

Beside a woodland, far away» 

Where man was seldom known to stray. 

And then the radiant evening spread 
Her transient splendors overne-id: 
The moon, that, rieing o'er the height. 
Plainer and plainer in my si^ht, 
Each moment cast a mellower light, 

'Till lastly, when the elocing day 
Had changed its hue to leaden gray- 
She reigned supreme; and lovelier yet, 
As when the eye first beauty met, 
A sight the mind can ne^er forget. 

And there was stillness ail about — 
No sound of bird, no childish shout; 
But ail above, and all below, 
As the dying wind would come and g*, 
In sleep was Nature left to grow. 

Dark shadows of the trees around. 
Like specters crept upon the ground, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 97 

And for a moment, nothing stirred, 
Then, scarcely audible, a word 
III unknown tongue I feebly heard. 

And following quickly in its flight 

A figure dressed in snowy white 

Floated before me in the air. 

Her arms and heaving breasts were bare, 

Perfect in curvature, divinely rare. 

And for a moment 1 was filled 
With wonder, awe, and strangely thrilled, 
My veins with gushing pulses swelled, 
As if my death were slowly knelled. 
As the strange view my brain impelled. 

I know not how the minutes went. 
For all my thoughts on her were bent; 
But now I wonder at it all — 
The shadows shrouding like a pall, 
And then that low and phantom call. 

With many a winning courtesy 
She raised the fire of love in me. 
She made it glow, she made it burn, 
She made my inner passions yearn, 
And drew them out to ne'er return. 



98 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

But lo ! she floated in the air, 
And grasped her loosely flowing hair,— 
Her drapery vanished in the night, 
The goddess form was bared to sight, 
Illumined by a gorgeous light! 

sculptor, with thy art divine, 

1 see thy masterpiece decline ! 
O Michael Angelo, thy brush ! 
A thousand fancies to me rush, 
And all the noblest paintings blush! 

That face! those arms! that figure? all 
Have answered to the highest call, 
And I have read the gods' decree 
Thou art the loveliest of the Thref 
And Paris gave the fruit to thee. 

O, eyes that tears have never shed, 

O, heart that sorrow ne'er has fed, 

O, love and beauty manifold, 

A diamond in a case of gold. 

Art thou, art thou, ye heavenly mould ? 

With throbbing heart the sight I viewed, 
And, like the maiden who is wooed, 
Afraid to utter thought or sound, 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 

Afraid to mar the stillness ^round, 
I lay, a prisoner, on the ground. 

And then it was oblivion took 
Possession of the lonely nook; 
The trees around, the moon above, 
The image of the idol, Love, 
Had disappeared by magic move. 

When morning light returned and found 
Me lying there upon the ground. 
She softly crept beneath mine eyes. 
And cut the cord that languor ties, 
And woke me from my wild disguise. 

Echo Song* 

The echoes rise o'er Bended Knee, 

And mock the wayward call, 
They travel on o'er rock and tree, 

They cry to you they cr}- to me, 
And quiver as they fall. 

They travel far where voices weak 

Require the strength to go; 
Nor wait to rise with morning's streak, 

But hurry on from peak to peak. 
By day or night, in calm or blow. 



ItO A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

The voice is true to every note, — 

Impartiiiliy clear, 
And rises from a mystic throat, 

Upon the mountain side to float 
And charm the listening ear. 

And who doth know the mystic tongue ? 

Who knows the Arcade's tale ? 
The nymph who 'round Diana clung. 

When loud the cries of huntress rung, 
In chase o'er mount and dale. 

As then, so now, the echoes cry, — 
Go hear them if you will, — 

Across the air the voices fly. 

In valley low. on mountain high, 

Along, exulting trill. 



The Dying Christian. 

**Sce" said Addison on his death bzd, 
"See how a Christian can die.** 

There's a paining in his throat, 
And a tear upon his eye, 

And the doctors plainly note 
That his final hour is nigh. 



AND OTHER POEMS. JOl 

Through the curtain comes the moon, 

And it shines upon his eyes. 
Across the bed, alas, too soon, 

Where the dying Christian liesc 

There's a twitching in his gown, 

And his breathing's hard and slow, 
And a gloom has settled down. 

For his life is ebbing low. 

Hark ! he murmurs; do you hear 

What his breath has power to tell ! 
Now I closer place my ear, 

And he whispers. ''All is well." 

Awful words they are to me, 

For I know that all is wrong; 
But he means he'll happier be 

Ere the night has ebbed along. 

Now I kiss his sunken face, 

And I stroke his icy brow, 
And I take a last embrace, 

For I feel he's going now. 

See! his bosom falls and heaves, 

And he turns his eyes above, 
And he whispers, as he leaves, 

"All is brightness, all is love." 



102 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Colonial War Song. 

Hear ye the British yell ! 
See ye the work of hell ! 
Who is it here can tell 
Where it will end ? 

Now in our country's name, 
Ever think of her fame. 
Let not a nerve be tame, 

Your death missiles send ! 

j May every bullet sped, 

i Made of the molded lead, 

Strike some rash Britou dead. 
Thus lay them low ! 

They who have dared to face 
America's bravest race. 
Quick find a resting place 
j Where the roots grow ! 

/ See how our eagle flies 

Straight in their quaking eyes, 
While their lion trembling lies 
Stretched on the ground ! 

! We do their power defy, 

' Long will our children cry 

I Words that shall never die, 

"Our liberty's sound I '^ 



AND OTHER POEMS. 10* 

To A. G. a, M. D. 

(from college). 

I said in Eobert's letter that I'd write to you to-day, 
And now I'm going to do it for I've got a lot to say, 
I've got permission from the Prex to take a better room. 
And four good windows has it got — there isn't any gloom! 
It measures twenty feet in length, and just about as wide. 
And burners four for gas it has, a closet large beside; 
A double bed whose mattress is some twenty years of age, 
But that I do not kick about, for here they're all the rage! 
I'm working over Cicero and pegging in the gym. 
And half a thousand other things with energetic vim. 
The weather here is pesky, too, and changing every duy. 
And what 'twill be in twenty hours the prophets couldn't 

say. 
The Juniors are debating on their promenade to come, 
And our hearts are beating over it as beats a martial drum. 
The Preps are keeping low by night, and scattering by day, 
Avoiding dire encounters and the awful tricks we play. 
I don't suppose you've patients had to try your youthful 

skill; 
They know that "meds" who aren't old are liable to kill ! 
I'm studying and cutting up and having Jolly times. 
And when the evening hours appear I scribble idle rhymes; 
And I'm looking to the future with a careless kind of air. 
Yel^hoping to espy a face that's beauteous and fair, 



104 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

For manhood years are coming on, and dreams are in my 

head 
Of dropping all this studying and seek a girl to wed. 
But there ! I've written long enough to make you fellows 

merry; 
Good bye, good night, good luck to you, from 
Your devoted 

"Terry." 



Hymn to the Brave* 

The fotlowfng poem occurs in a prose work — **Th.c Magic "Wound^- 
of the atithor^s, and is sung by a child of six years. 

From the dark shadow of Death I was taken 

By the strong arms of the brave and tha true ; 

'Midst the wild storm when all hope was forsaken, 
Mother, from death I've come back unto you. 

Weave from the olive a crown for the hero. 

Gathered when sweet with the fresh morning dew ; 
Why dost thou weep, dear, and what dost thou fear, O ? 

Mother, from death I've come back Hnto you. 

Bright be the days of the youth who has saved me. 

Long be the years of his life to ensue ; 
Deep in my heart shall his fair name engraved be. 

Mother, from death I've come back unto you. 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^05 

An Evening Reverie. 

Somehow I love those simple songs 

That call us back to youth again, 
When Time has stoPn that jewel away, 

And left us longing, all in vain. 

They call a sadness to the mind, 

A sadness calm, serene, and sweet. 
And back again to youth we go 

On fancy's wings, so smooth and fleet. 

We see the olden haunts again, 

Where oft we passed with careless tread ; 
We see the church, the school, the ground 

Where lie our unforgotten dead. 

And how the tombs in number grow ! 

How many a heart o'er them has wrung! 
So many were not there before 

They were not there when we were young. 

Ah me, it is a mournful tale, 

A tale that but the heart can know, 
So deep the feeling borne within 

The thought in words can never flow. 



106 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

But e'en in sadness there is that 

Which in itself is sweet and good; 

And rising from the throbbing heart, 
It spreadeth o'er, as with the blood. 



Now every change we see about 
Is but improvement of the old; 

But still, to me, the old is best, 

For brass that's polished is not gold, 



And many a newer face we see. 

And many a newer song is sung 

By those new faces hail and gay; 

That were not here when we were young. 

But should we mourn o'er what is gone, 
And cause an hour, a day, of blight? 

^\'hen hope is seen for us before, 

Oh, let not darkness shroud the light! 



O Youth, adieu, a tear to thee! 

I still a future have in store 
To lead my thoughts another way, 

And cheer me on to more and more ! 



AND OTHER POEMS. 107 

To My Earlier Ryhmes, 

Dear niirsliDg rhymes I 

You children of my childish brain, 
That found your birth at various times, 

I do not think you came in vain, 

O, idle dreams, 

That would not stay where you were born, 
But welleth forth in verbal streams. 

My school book fly leaves to adorn. 

O, youthful lore ! 

I once believed you quite sublime, 
And counted on a goodly store 

Which thou wouldst bring from Fortune^s clime 

How sadly wrong! 

But still I love you none the less — 
The cold, hard world may pass you on, 

Nor heed you for your simple dress. 

But you are mine ! 

There's many a son;i^ in sweeter key, 
Of fuller praise, of nobler rhyme, 

(But what care I I heir birth or clime?) 
Not one is half so dear to me. 



108 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 



A June Bride^ 

I'm aware that you know you are fair as the day, 
And are drawing the love frotn the hearts all around yoUr 
You are young, you are sweet, and your bridal array 
Is proof of the word that forever has bound you. 

And I read in your eyes, all aglow with enlightment. 
And seeing the happiness that will ensue, 
The thought that is hidden beneath the excitement — 
-'Here's a heart that is pure, that is loving and true." 

'Tis wrong to be envious, said one of the sages, 

I blame not the man who envies the groom, 

He who has followed his heart's longing rages, 

B!.''.T( d the thorns of the bush, plucked the rose in its bloom! 



FRAGMENT, 

When I behold the firmament at even. 
And see the constellations there divine, 
Each star does seem a portal into Heaven, 
Through which the light of Paradise does shine. 



AND OTHER POEMS. l09 

O, Heort of Man! 



We have our faults; I ask not why, 

And we are blamed from day to day, 

But when it comes our turn to die. 

Behold! they blame us not, but say: 

He led a good and simple life, 

He was a friend both kind and dear, 

And through his days of toil and strife 
He kindlier grew from year to year. 

O, heart of man, how strange you are ! 

You give not when ^tis wanted most. 
But when we die, thou goest far, 

And turn thy words to idle boast. 

If thou art really proud of one. 

And deem him to be truly dear, 

O, better let your words be none. 

Than those you cannot later bear. 

No epoch loves its greatest man 

With all the love he may be worth ; 

For centuries has run the plan, 
For centuries it will go forth. 



110 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

flow many a bard sublime has been 

The object of a jeering world. ; 
How many a soul has borne within 

The stings of insult at him hurled ! 

But when the cold earth many a year 
Has lain upon the mouldering form, 

His worth the tribute of a tear 

Commands from hearts that then are warm. 



Mateless, 



Perched on a limb when the woods weru still, 
Heard I a robin mournfully trill; 
Hour after hour as they passed along, 
Gave I my ear to the robin's song. 

Low and sad, as a funeral dirge. 
Differing so from the song of birds, 
I was awakened, heart and soul, 
To learn the why of the robin's toll: 

There on the ground a little way. 
Downy and soft, a body lay; 
Black and white and breast of red, — 
Kobin redbreast lying dead. 



AND OTHER POEMS. m 

Higli on the branch, with look serene, 
Lowly warbling, viewing the scene, 
Heart of anguish ready to burst, — 
But. i)oor bird, are you the first? 

There in a hut by the lonely sea, 
Mother and widow, and children three, 
Bending low by the candle light. 
Peering at death with salty sight, 

While without the sea winds blow, 
Bringing to many wreck and woe; 
Angry the breakers dash and roar. 
Washing his shattered ship ashore . 

There in a richly furnished hall, 
Lieth a figure under a pall. 
While on the floor is kneeling down, 
Bride of a year in mourning's gown. 



112 A TALE OF NORMANDIE: 

A Sleigh Ride in the SoutL 



The snow has fallen in the South, 
The first for twenty years, 
And one on going up the street 
The merry sleigh bell hears. 

Kow, in a Southern village, 
Where grow the roses fair, 
Live Anthony McAlgers, 
And Clara D. Leclare. 

Anthony loved his Clara, 
And Clara loved him so. 
That they agreed together 
To try the new born snow. 

So out into the country, 

A dozen miles away— 

(It took them half an hour to go. 

So swiftly flew the sleis^h ! ) 

Swift Nancy pulled the cutter 
Over the roadway slick. 
Along they went so lively 
O'^^r moor and frozen creek. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 113 

Said Ton}^ "Tis a blessing, 
A sleigh ride such as this, 
We do not have one often," 
He onded with a kiss. 

So taken up, those lovers. 
In what the other said, 
They noted not how fiercely 
The sun shone overhead. 

And fast the snow was melting 
Beneath the solar ray ; 
And fast the mud was forming, 
And slower went the sleigh. 

At twelve o'clock, Oh, goodness ! 
When Tony looked around, 
He clutched his Clara in affright — 
No snow was on the ground ! 

Poor Nancy knew the diff'rence. 
And pulled and puffed in vain. 
And struggled in the heavy mud 
To get them home again. 

J3y luck, a smithy's shop 
This couple chanced to meet, 
And so they stopped, but not, I say, 
To shoe the horse's feet. 



1.4 A TALE OF NORMANDJH 

A happy thought struck Tony — 
Once more he easy feels, 
As when he sees the smithy 
Adjust the sleigh on wheels I 

And then this happy couple 
Again got in the sleigh, (?) 
And with a word to Nancy, 
They homeward made their way. 



A Panegyric; (For 'Jack/') 

What dost thou see ia woman's face, 
Only the lines of baaaty's trace ? 
Seest thou naaght that oehind it lies, 
The mind, however hard it tries 
To fathom, finds that it defies 
All effort ? 

I do not know, I do not care 
What others find in faces fair, 
Since I have found beneath that brow 
More than I ever dreamed, till now, 
Was His intention to bestow 
^Tpon us. 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^^ 

My thoughts are weak, ray senses poor, 
Yet 'neath that brow I findeth more 
Of worldly good, all innocent 
Than I could deem Wiis His intent 
To give his creatures, to content 
Man's fickleness. 

Base affectation claims no part 
To quench, like water, that bright spark 
Of self-unconsciousness. She is as one 
Born for my guidance; were she gone 
I were in darkness and alone 
Mid apathy. 

Ib that young bosom love lies deep, 
And sympathy that knows not sleep; 
On that young heart is written "Good,'* 
Should all the virtues mingle blood 
Here is such being as they would 
Make withal. 

A Beatrice to ennoble rhyme. 
With all improvement of the time 
Since he of Italy did praise 
In sweetest panegyric lays 
That being of his earlier days 
Through ages sung. 



116 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

Yuledon* 

Oh, here is a beautiful fleur-de-lis^ 

That I plucked in the garden of Yuledon 

And I've carried it here, O my Love, tor thee, 
With a note from the warden of Yuledon. 

*'0h, what can it mean ? " she exclaimed, as she ran 
To my side, flushing o'er at the meeting, 

As a maiden will flush when the brow of a man 
Her own unexpectedly greeting. 

But I said not a word as I gave her the note, 
Thac was sealed most secure by the sender; 

And I caught the faint sigh that escar)ed from her throat 
As she stood by my side, tall and slender. 

Her l:iiry-like fingers tore open the seal. 

And the letter unfolded before me. 
And then, while her voice did the story reveal, 

What a joy, what a passion, spread o'er me ! 

V/hat a glow on her face ! What a light in her eye I 
When she finished the note, came upon her; 

And I felt the sweet breath of a passionate sigh, 
And I dared to believe I had won her; 



AND OTHER POEMS 117 

For often the heart is aware of a fact 

Yet untold, but by actions around it, 
Anu my soul and my heart were together intact 

With the truth e're the moment we found ii. 

The letter was short, and she read it aloud: 
"He is dead," said the warden of Yuledon: 

"You are free, he was slain 'mid the battle's fierce clouds- 
Come at once to the garden of Yilledon." 

^'O, Alice,'' 1 cried, "we are free, let us go, 

'Tis a blessing that H eaven has given, 
And what is our future, oh, soon shall we know. 

If we reach the fair garden this even." 

On, onward we weni over hill and o'er dale, 
And our hearts and our steps were in union 

No ship did more lightly o'er fair waters sail. 
As we sped, with our hearts in commuriion. 

For he who was slain was a suitor that Fate 

By a monarch's decree, set between us ; ! 

But Alice for him ever cherished a hate, 

That was known to all those who had seen us. 

And Alice, O, Alice, now sweet and how fair! 

A princess, yet queen in her bearing, 
And back to that moment my musings repair — 

To that beauty and grace she was wearing. 



^^ - A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

An hour passed along, and an hour, and an hour, 

'Till at last, all aglow witli exertion. 
We stood in the garden beneath a fair bower, 

And awaited the warden's assertion. 

Then he came, then he came, and our hearts were aglow- 

A passionate madrigal beating ; 
Behind him a priest with a step firm and slow 

Was coming to sanction the meeting. 

rhe priest gave a blessing and offered his hand, 
And paused, while the warden of Yuledon 

Approached, when as if by a magical wand, 
I awoke in the garden of Yuledon ! 

Gone! Gone! Gone! 

Gone ! Gone ! Gone ! 

And the echo answers me still : 
Gone! Gone! Gone! 

And over beyond the hill 
Is a mould of clay where the violets stray, 

And Dearest lying chill. 

Gone ! Gone I Gone ! 

And never to come again : 
Gone ! Gone ! Gone ! 

And the thought brings dull, drear pain ; 
For the joys that were and ihe days with her, 

I call them back in vain ! 



AND OTHER POEMS. 119 

The Burned Letters. 

Oh, it was wrong, it Avas cruel in me, 

To have burned the letters I had so long, 

For now in them the beauty I see, 

And tlie ashes of each are murmuring, ' 'wrong. ^ 

"I have so many", I often said, 
"Pll keep just one from every name;'^ 
And that one thought, so foolish, led, 
Many a treasure into the flame, 

Now years have flown, and those who then, 

In a childish, happy and careless way, 
Thought of the words that guided the pen, 
Have passed, oh sorrowful, passed away. 

Forgive me if my lines are trite, 
Speaking of those who have gone before; 
But in my heart I deem it right, 
As years go on to love them more. 

Now oft to tears have 1 given away, 
And weighed myself with sorrow and blame; 
For many a time I curse the day, 
I gave those letters unto the flame. 



i20 A TALE OF NORRIANDIE 



SONG. 

* When First I Kissed That Lovely Face."' 

When first I kissed that lovely face, 
It seemed that Nature and her race 
Of fairy artists vied their skill 
To make the fairest, and to fill 
That single mould with all the good 
That makes the charm of maidenhood. 
Again I kiss that face today. 
Some forty years have passed away. 
The brows are knit, the locks are gray, 
And round about it wrinkles stray — 
The heart has lost its childish play, 
The bloom of youth forever gone. 
But still my love for her lives on. 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^I 

The Wierd Hermit; 



He lingered oft where crumbling bones 
Have lain for ages past, 
Or where the ocean's dismal moans 
Against the crags are cast. 

He comfort found in haunted dells, 
Whose legends 'gan full long ago; 
To sit among its rocky cells 
And list with pleasure to the blow 

Of maddened winds of stormy night. 
And see the huge trees all around 
Go trembling in the whirlwind's flight 
And crash upon the cankering ground. 

He held communion with his soul; 
He reasoned deep on life and death; 
He found a grandeur in the whole 
That conquers utterance with the breath. 

He studied deep the lovely scene 
That Nature gave him day by day, — 
The beauty of the forest's green, 
The flower, its flourish and decay. 



122 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

No outward care possessed his mind, — 
He knew but Nature, that was all. 
To everything without was blind, 
The wood he found his dearest thrall. 

It taught him many a lesson deep. 
It gave him food, and shelter, too, 
It lulled him, with its tones, to sleep, 
It charmed bim when it loudly blew. 

So many a year in solitude 
He lived with Nature, no one near, 
And last when Death did there intrude, 
He went, and no one shed a tear. 



AND OTHER POEMS. ^^^ 

The Cyclone. 

I am the cyclone, 
God of the West winds, 
Fly I immeasura.bly 
Swift o'er the country. 
I am God's weapon 
When He is angry, 
O'er village and city 
I'm sent on His errand. 
Dealing destruction, 
Death and wild carnage 
Midst a weak people 
O'er whom I am master. 
Oaks on the mountain 
Tremble before me. 
Sway and snap sharply, 
And crash to the valley. 
Lake, stream and ocean 
Are tossed into fury. 
Scattering broadcast 
Spray to the Heavens, 
Ships are like feathers. 
And founder before me ; 
Temples of granite 
Massive and lofty. 
Tumble and crumble 
When swift I pass o'er them. 



124 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

I am the Wind God, 
I am the terrible 
I am God's weapon, 
The bellows of Hades. 



A Rural Home, 

The sun is set; the day is done, 

The flocks are feeding in the bara, 

And o'er the snowy fields away 
Die the echoes of a horn. 

The curtains down, the lights are lit, 
And 'round about the kitchen fire 

Playful children romp and shout, 
And beg a story of their sire. 

Adown the chimney comes the wind, 
And blows the flames in wild estate, 

And now and then the pop^ is heard 
Of nuts a-roasting in the grate. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 125 

And waking cat and dog at once 

They glance into each other's face — 
Across the threshold in a bound, 

The children joining in the chase. 

A bell resounds; the noises cease, 

Each goes to his accustomed place, 
A father^s voice is softly heard, 

And bowed their heads in simple grace. 

Upon the table deftly set 

By Margerie, a goodly wife, 
The plain and simple rural fare 

Productive of a sturdy life. 

Without, the snow in layers deep 

Is oddly heaped and piled around. 
And winter winds a-moaning loud, 

Outpour a wild and ghostly sound. 

But what care they for this, within ? 

Let Boreas bluster out of door ; 
They're strong in faith as well as limb, 

And all are hardened to the core. 

They live their good and simple life. 

Away from Trouble's tireless hand, 
And free from Learning's influence. 

Are monarchs o'er their little land. 



126 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 

An Echo from Our Algebra Class* 

At Rugby Academy St. Louis. Mo. 
Within the bounds of reason there exist 
Some things that seem unnatural to me, 
And why is it our teacher does persist 
In teaching us, is what I cannot see. 

Well does he know our class comprises fools. 
■ Yet does untiringly, from day to day, 
With X and Y in strenuous voice he rules. 
In vain to drive it in our mortal clay. 

Day after day at certain hour we rise. 

Slow marching to the board with bowed head; 

Mathematicians ! can you not devise 

A study that will not forerun such dread 1 

Yainly we labor nightly by our lamp, 
Work and rework, use paper by the rolls, 
Till the fire's out and all the room is damp — 
Spenser, O, Spenser, have pity on our souls! 

Where is the good in algebraic lore '? 
Why use our brains, our energy, our time 
In learning such, when men have lived befo 
V\^it]K>ut it 1 Are the questions of my rhyme. 

"Down with it!" the voice of boyhood cries: 
"Down with Algebra, we want no morel" 
Across the water may the echo rise, 
And terror strike along Algeria's shore ! 



AND OTHER POliMS. '-'' 

Ned. 

I'm lazy, people say it, an' I reckon it is true, 

An' I'm alliiz roamin' far away when there is work tu do ; 

But its Natur' made me lazy, where's th' help, I'd lilie to 

know? 
Ef yur'e born a dunce or genius, let th' course o' natur' 

grow ? 
"No use tryin' tu avoid it, Natur's bound tu have her w;'.y — 
Ef yur'e doomed, thet's all about it — work is work an' play 

is play. 
Folks have said I'm simply worthless, better hed I died at 

birth- 
Little comfort does it give me, little chance fer hoiiest 

mirth ; 
But I've got er heart within me thet's as soft and good as 

their'n. 
An' thet heart fer God an' country more'n their'n does throb 

an' burn. 
An' it hfis er feelin' in it thet I kinder can't express — 
Somethin' good an' elevatin', like o' which they'd never 

guess ; 
And I reckon thet they'll know it when my spirit's gone 

away, 
When I help th' myr'id others tu increase th' mounds o' 

clay; 
They will know it, they will see it, an' confess that lazy Ned 
Had er better self within him never known till he wuz dead. 



128 A TALE OF NOEMANDIE 

Room "41." 

( At College. ) 

Old Key ! I've turned you many a time, 
And thrown ajar the pendant door, 

And passinj^ to this room of mine, 
When idle mused o'er college lore. 

Full forty years have come and gone 
Since first a student kept the lair, 

And turned the key from dawn to dawn, 
And climbed the old and crooked stair 

As I have done, and yet may do, 

And dreamed, perhaps, as I have dreamed 

The days, the months, the long years through, 
'Till last the final morning beemed. 

(), Time, what changes have you wrou^rht? 

Where are they now who then were here ! 
Mnyhap life's battle some have fought, 

And mouldering lay beneath the bier. 

But one I know who lived herein, 

When fewer things to cheer there were, 
One who a friend and help has been — 
Meus Latinus magister. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 129 

And for that reason do I prize 

Th« room and haunts of "Forty-one," 
And thoughts of it will e'er arise 

Within me till my setting sun. 



To Womankind; 

In Altissima* 

Fair womankind! God's loveliest handiwork. 

To you these fancies of my mind I owe. 

Thou hast been subject for my airy muse. 

Thou hast been rapture to a lonely heart; 

Thy charms have thrilled me, and full many a time 

When sheer alone, imagination only 

Being my mind's absorption, thy loveliness 

Incarnate rising near, has swelled my heart 

And stirred the embers of a dormant brain 

Until, unable to withhold the thoughts 

That e'er arise, I give them loosened rein, 

And, in the rhythmic line, however poor, 

My heart enjoyed to g'we them habitation. 



130 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 



To the lone heart, contrite in itself, 

Thy touch and voice are as the rain of Heaven 

Upon the parched Arabic sands; thy form, 

All graceful and in silence gliding by 

Is as a vision, a sweet dream of youth 

Likened to that of pure Endymion. 

And that sweet love which thy young breast contains 

Poured out for charity, or love's dear self, 

Is as the balm of Heaven. O God, 

It is a glorious thing, this love. 

Which thou hast planted in the breast of man, 

It is the essence, the sweet incense rising 

From Thine Own Self, and these lair forms we have, 

Sweet womankind, absorb it, and for them. 

Next to Thy son, a man should render thanks 




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